


As I Am Now

by shadow_lover



Category: Captive Prince - C. S. Pacat
Genre: Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Aphrodisiacs, Banter, Canon Era, Desperate Arousal/Sexual Frustration, Hand & Finger Kink, Knotting, Laurent POV, M/M, Manhandling, Mating Cycles/In Heat, Past Child Abuse (Mention), Post-Canon
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-04-24
Updated: 2016-04-24
Packaged: 2018-06-02 15:59:14
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,154
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6572575
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/shadow_lover/pseuds/shadow_lover
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>They lay together in the rising light, again at rest, and every ache in his body was a gift. Laurent had never dreamed he might take joy in this.</p>
            </blockquote>





	As I Am Now

**Author's Note:**

  * For [sassafrasx](https://archiveofourown.org/users/sassafrasx/gifts).



**1**

As his brother’s killer forced the knife from his hand, Laurent was uncertain which was worse: to be so easily disarmed by Damianos, or to be so thoroughly overwhelmed by lust for him.

He staggered back empty-handed, and the space between them gave no relief. The assassins’ drug—his uncle’s drug—had induced a false heat. In this condition, he could jump out the window and, crumpled in the garden two stories down, still be salivating over the alpha’s scent.

The next moments were as great a struggle as the attack had been. He fought through the haze, fought down the flaring warmth, fought not to tremble with the strain of it. The shift of his shirt was too rough, too sweet against his hypersensitive skin. He was lucky it was loose enough to conceal how hard he was. Worse than anything, his arm burned with the memory of Damen’s touch. However much he hated the man, his body responded to the alpha’s presence like a flower opening to the sun.

His room was bloodstained. He stood amidst the wreckage and the death, and he yearned to be mounted by his brother’s killer.

He could sense the answering instinct stirring in the alpha’s body, but Damen gave no sign of recognizing it. Of course; the tonic Laurent took to prevent natural heats also repressed his scent. Damen would think the rising tension no more than the aftermath of the fight.

And the tension of the fight to come, with blades of words. There were more pressing matters. Laurent gritted his teeth and returned to the small matter of his near assassination. _My body is nothing. I will ignore it._

He sparred first with Damen and then with his uncle’s soldiers. He could not allow them to know he was on the defensive, as he always was. The false heat was but one more indignity to suffer through; he was betrayed by his own body, as he might be betrayed by anyone he allowed close.

He leaned against the wall. Every scent in the room sharpened: iron blood, soldiers’ sweat, his own fear and need. Above all, Damen. Laurent’s every breath tasted of him. Were it not for the tonic, he would be wet.

Then the soldiers left, and Damen knew. “It’s an Akielon drug,” he said. “It’s given to pleasure slaves, during training. It sends alphas into rut, and omegas—”

 _I have had it before,_ Laurent did not say.

**2**

They lay together in the rising light, again at rest, and every ache in his body was a gift. Laurent had never dreamed he might take joy in this. He stretched against Damen’s side. Half on Damen, with his leg flung over Damen’s, and his arm heavy on Damen’s chest, and his head dizzy where it lay on Damen’s shoulder.

 _Damen, Damen, Damen._ The man was everywhere and everything. Sweat cooled along Laurent’s limbs. Damen’s pulse was warm beneath his fingertips.

His happiness was incandescent. It outshone the sun. It was fragile, but that was alright, when he had been broken so long already.

“I wish,” said Laurent.

Damen’s arm tightened minutely around him, but he said nothing. His eyes were closed and his face very still, and Laurent was free to look at him and think: _He has been mine._

Laurent said, “I wish I’d been in heat.”

Damen froze beneath him, then shifted. Laurent’s hand on his chest kept him from rising. After a moment, Damen covered his hand in his. Warm brown skin and calluses that had scraped over his hips. Laurent had seen that hand tighten around a knife and a sword. He had seen it clenched in fury. He had felt it clasped firm around his wrist and had felt it tighten brutally around his arm.

Those long fingers had fed him, and brushed tenderly through his hair.

“If you were,” said Damen, “we would still be going.”

The phrasing was ill-chosen. Laurent put it aside and curled in closer. “I assume you’ve fucked an omega in heat before.” He would rather think of Damen’s past than his own.

“Yes.”

“How was it?”

Damen’s laugh blew through Laurent’s hair. “It was fine,” said Damen. “Have you…”

Laurent deliberately unlocked his shoulders. He was glad Damen had not finished the question. “I’ve never been in heat,” said Laurent.

Damen’s surprise was almost charming: “Never?” he asked, and half sat up before Laurent pulled him back down. His surprise was expected. An omega’s first heat came by the age of fourteen, more often than not. Sometimes earlier, and rarely later. The tonic was widespread, particularly in the army where heats and ruts might cause utter havoc in a troop, but most used it to skip one inconvenient heat, or two. Perhaps four, a year’s worth, if necessary.

“I never wanted to,” he said lightly. “I acquired the tonic before they started.” He had hated the false heats.

This time, he let Damen move. Damen turned over and enfolded Laurent in his arms. His breath was slow and warm on Laurent’s shoulder, and the gold cuffs were hard against his back.

Laurent indulged in a delicate whine as the movement jostled his aching insides. “I’ll feel you all week,” he said, and what he meant was, _I’ll miss you._

**3**

The tonic was simple. He took it once a month. Most in the court assumed he was a beta. Nobody assumed he was an alpha. Nothing else in life was simple, but he could prevent his body from turning against him every three months. He could control that. But if he wanted all of Damen, he had to give all of himself.

He wanted all of Damen.

He sat on a bed in the stark Akielon palace. The room was across the hall from the room where physicians stitched Damen back together. Laurent had not wished to leave, but every moment he spent arguing was a moment in which they were not repairing Damen. Now Paschal was looking him over. They didn’t speak yet of what had transpired in the courtroom.

He was scathed. He was shocked to be alive.

“And I brought this,” said Paschal quietly.

The phial glittered in his hand. He should have taken it a week ago. That was alright. A week’s delay would not unravel a habit of seven years.

“No,” said Laurent.

The phial returned to the physician’s bag.

**4**

The withdrawal was slow. He exhausted more quickly than usual, or he hummed with excess energy. He did not know what was due to the withdrawal and what was due to the vista of a new world before him. He was king. Damen was king. They were both alive.

Damen was crowned first; they were already in Akielos. It was two months before they began their return to Vere. Damen insisted he would see Laurent crowned, and the stubbornness in his furrowed brow set Laurent’s heart fluttering.

This time at Marlas, they were both housed in the king’s suite. The feast was long. All the feasts had been long the past three months. Laurent drank little. He was dizzy on the curve of Damen’s arm reaching for a goblet across the table. He was dizzy on the dark hair spilling from the simple gold circle at his brow, and the effulgent laughter.

He was dizzy. He was too warm, and his clothes pressed too tightly to his body. His breath shallowed and the edges of the room blurred. With a cold thought between fear and resignation, he reached for his knife.

Then Damen turned, wide-eyed, to stare at him. Laurent could smell the shift in his scent, a total and immediate rousing.

Laurent realized he had not been poisoned.

“I have to go,” said Laurent. “Now.”

“Yes,” said Damen. His eyes were dark.

Laurent narrowly avoided running into a servant as he fled the dining hall. He did not avoid running into Nikandros, but he was unconcerned by the Kyros’s umbrage. He staggered as he rounded a corner, paused with a hand on the wall to regain his balance. He didn’t regain it, but he resumed his flight regardless. His heart pounded.

There were servants in the kings’ suite. Laurent dismissed them. His clothes were too tight, and he was going to burn away. He removed his boots and stockings with difficulty. When he lifted his hands to the laces behind his neck, his fingers were too clumsy to begin the effort. He whined, but the sound was lost in the slamming of the door.

More forceful still the sudden scent; it struck Laurent so hard he swayed.

“Laurent,” said Damen, and locked the door. He was flushed dark. He arrived perhaps two minutes after Laurent, who assumed those two minutes were spent clearing the hall and stationing guards at a discreet distance.

There was too much distance between them. Then there wasn’t. Damen’s hands were hot around his waist and his breath was hot in his ear. Laurent shuddered. He would topple were it not for Damen. He hadn’t known it would come on so quickly. He hadn’t known it would be so much. He slid against Damen, desperately hard, and gritted out, “Took you long enough.”

“When we start,” said Damen, breathless, “I don’t know if I’ll be able to stop.”

“I can’t stop now,” said Laurent. And then, “If you stop, I will kill you.” He locked his arms around Damen’s neck and dragged him down. Before they kissed, he murmured, “This is for you.”

Damen took his mouth with searing heat. Clumsy and desperate, yet with all the slow tenderness with which he always began. Laurent felt the tension singing through his lover’s body and knew he was holding himself, impossibly, back.

Laurent whined when Damen broke away, and tried to pull him back. Damen was unyielding. He whispered, “Let me undress you,” and Laurent’s knees weakened.

“Yes,” he said, and staggered the few steps to the foot of the bed. He gripped the footboard to keep his balance as Damen moved behind him.

Damen’s hands at his neck were gentle and steady. Laurent wanted to scream. The alpha’s scent was overwhelming, a deep, heady musk filling his lungs and eroding his last white-knuckled grip on self-restraint. He despised the lacing of his jacket. His clothes were so tight he couldn’t breathe. But even when his jacket fell open, he was still too hot, and he still couldn’t breathe.

The room swam when Damen pressed against him. His chest, partly covered by the chiton, was hot through the fine cloth of Laurent’s shirt. Need flared through him. He was excruciatingly empty. He had never needed to be filled like this. The false heats were different; they stirred desire, but little else. They didn’t loosen him. He had been too young to get wet.

He was wet now. Damen kissed the nape of his neck and ground into him. The feel of Damen’s cock against him was nearly enough to make Laurent spill right there, and he rocked back, whimpering. “For fuck’s sake,” he said, “you brute. Stop teasing.”

Damen jerked him around and shoved him against the footboard. When Laurent reached, Damen caught his wrist. He held Laurent’s gaze as he tore the laces from his sleeve in one sharp motion. He tore the second sleeve just as violently, and then was dragging the garment from Laurent’s shoulders. A seam ripped.

Laurent emphatically did not care, because Damen was sinking to his knees, mouthing Laurent through his pants. His fingers fumbled, once more gentle. Laurent bucked into the touch. His fingers tightened in Damen’s hair, and he hadn’t even the words to beg with. But he could drag Damen back up, because Damen moved willingly, sliding up his body. The laces were undone, and in tandem they worked his pants down. 

When Damen cupped him, Laurent groaned and curved over, braced against those broad shoulders. Not stroking, just feeling, and every touch was more than he could take. Laurent hadn’t known it was possible to feel so much. Damen’s long fingers pushed further back, over his balls, and Laurent’s thighs parted instinctively to allow it.

“I love you,” said Damen. His other hand was broad and warm against Laurent’s cheek. He was trembling. 

Laurent snarled, “If your cock isn’t inside me in one minute, I am cutting it off.”

The next moment, the world spun and flared hotter: Damen had lifted him from the ground, one arm under his ass, the other firm behind his back. “You’re welcome to try,” said Damen. He hefted Laurent higher, so his cock rubbed against the hard planes of his abdomen. “But I think you’d miss it even more than I would.”

Laurent tightened his legs around Damen. He was growing to love Damen’s strength, the size of him, his body a shield between him and the world.

Two quick steps later, Damen threw him back onto the bed. Before Laurent could sit up, Damen was surging forward, covering him, hands in his hair. The kiss was shattering. More fumbling, and the chiton fell away. Laurent’s shirt bunched up above his belly, and Damen still wore sandals. But instinct dragged them forward: they were out of time. Laurent needed to be fucked.

Damen needed him, too. Laurent saw it in his eyes, felt it in their tangling fingers, smelled it in the red-hot peak of his arousal. Laurent couldn’t look away from the reverence in his eyes. _I get to have this,_ he thought, incredulous. Something fractured from his mind, and Laurent was so light he could float away. _I won this._

He spread open for Damen, and Damen, holding him where he belonged, sank into him. They needed no preparation. Not to ease his body, and not to ease his mind. He was loose and wet and open, the slide was so easy, and it was like nothing he had ever felt. Lips parted in awe, he saw Damen’s eyelids flutter and he knew he was the most fortunate man in the world.

He was safe, and Damen would catch him. So Laurent let go. He arched up into it. His fingernails raked across Damen’s shoulders and down his biceps. “Yes,” he said, “Like that. Fuck me.”

“Laurent,” said Damen, and obeyed. He fucked into Laurent with immediate force. His eyes had gone glassy, and Laurent wondered distantly what he _saw_ right then. What he felt. If it was anything as burning and necessary as what Laurent felt. He was so hot, an incendiary crescendo, and he would burn with Damen forever if he could.

He could. Damen held him so tightly, he thought he might break, and but he would hold together instead. The strong arm beneath held him still, held him up. The other curled around, up beneath his shoulders, and cradled his head. 

His body moved so easily against Damen. He took him in so easily. The golden cuff was warm and heavy around Laurent’s wrist. They were made to lock together. They were made for each other and no one else. Or, they had shaped each other into the men they needed to be.

He was so full. They fit so easily, yet he still strained with every thick inch of Damen’s cock. The hot, wet drag of flesh inside flesh. Their limbs slid against each other, rough and sweat-slick, and above all the building scent, more intoxicating than chalis. Laurent was out of his mind with pleasure.

“More,” he demanded.

Damen drew back, barely an inch, and his hands were up beneath Laurent’s thighs. Softly, he kissed the inside of Laurent’s knee. His lips were feather-light even as his fingers clawed into Laurent’s legs. Then he bent Laurent in half and gave more, as Laurent commanded. He pressed just so inside Laurent, and the pounding pressure, the unrelenting pleasure, ignited his every nerve. Damen’s thrusts were hard enough to loosen Laurent’s throat and force out the tiniest, hitching whimpers. It was more than he would ever allow from himself, usually, but this wasn’t usually. This was something new and strange and real and right. He couldn’t restrain himself.

He didn’t want to. He wanted to release himself to instinct. _I was made to be his,_ Laurent thought. _And he mine._

Damen was talking. Laurent could hardly hear it over his own ragged breath and over the roar of blood in his ears. But some words broke into him: _Perfect. Mine. Yours, always. I’ll love you always. Love that sound, yes, there._

“—for me, Laurent. Let go.”

Laurent let go; he came hard, in dazzling flame, and knew nothing but Damen. He was shaking loose. And then Damen’s lips on his, strong hands folding him in half, covering him completely.

Something pressed at their joining: a hot, thick distension against his entrance. He opened his eyes in time to catch Damen’s expression as he pulled back.

Laurent took hold of his neck and held him in place. “Yes,” he begged.

Damen’s hips jerked, and his knot pushed into Laurent. It was slow, and Laurent did not know if he would have survived a faster ingress. Damen was big enough already; his growing knot was more than Laurent thought possible to take. It would not have been possible without the slick and his loosening muscles.

His eyes were open, as were Damen’s. They watched each other, red and breathless, as they joined completely. Damen’s brow was furrowed in concentration, his mouth slack, lips wet with spit. His own. Laurent’s. The long moment hung between them like the echoing of bells.

Laurent was still hard, but he was no longer wanting. He already had everything he needed, and the freedom to savor it.

Damen’s eyes closed; with a strangled cry, he slid all the way in. The connection was a revelation. The knot put constant pressure at just the right place. Spread so wide to take it, every fiber of Laurent’s being was raw with sensation.

He tightened down on instinct, and that was enough: Damen jerked against him, again, again. He spilled inside, and Laurent’s eyes rolled back with the heat and the light of it. Damen came with explosive force inside him, and Laurent felt new. This was new, and theirs forever.

Damen’s head fell to his shoulder, sweat-damp. He still rutted into Laurent, the flood subsiding but not ceasing. Laurent removed his nails from Damen’s shoulders and cradled his head. “I love you too,” said Laurent, and Damen slumped against him.

He was very heavy, and soon Laurent would ask him to move. Soon, his knot would recede enough that Laurent might rise off, and then Laurent would likely want to go again—and again. The night was theirs, and he could feel his heat building.

But in this moment, Laurent would not have moved for anything in the world. After a lifetime of falsehoods, this was something true.


End file.
